On Monday, however, things looked much as usual on the field. There were no cuts allowed, even those who had sustained injuries being out. The hospital list was also in evidence to a man; Neirsinger, with his neck swathed in bandages, Nichols with his left shoulder under leather, Harmon with a right ankle sporting much silk elastic, Smedley looking sad and pale after a ten-day bout with bronchitis; and one or two others. But they were all there, and while a few did no more than look on most of them performed at least some slight labor. There had been a short but earnest talk in the dressing room before practice and the members of the team had worn more serious countenances than usual when they had reached the field.
Contrary to the usual procedure, the second team was called across at half-past four and lined up against a first eleven consisting largely of second-string players. They looked easy to the scrubs, and the latter visioned another jolly massacre, but something went wrong with their vision. With Coach Cade and Captain Mart driving as mercilessly as in a mid-week scrimmage, that patched-up first eleven got together as no first eleven had for a fortnight and gave the scrubs the fight of their lives.
Russell had no difficulty that afternoon in following Coach Gaston’s injunction and forgetting that the opponents were Altonians. Butler, who played left tackle in Proctor’s place, erased all merciful tendencies from Russell’s mind shortly after the first clash when he sent a none too heavily padded elbow against the opposing end’s face, an all-encompassing attention that set his head ringing, almost jarred his teeth loose and, proceeding further, put his nose temporarily out of plumb. Of course, it was quite accidental. That is to say, Butler held no personal animosity toward Russell. He would have done the same no matter who had been playing scrub end. Perhaps Russell should have taken that into consideration and felt better about it. But there wasn’t much time for judicial consideration of anything, and so, occasionally removing the sanguine evidence with a sleeve, he forgot that Butler was a school-mate, a neighbor in Upton Hall, a brother member of the Debating Society and a good fellow generally, and, in football parlance, proceeded to “smear” him. So successful was he that Appel soon stopped sending plays at that end--greatly to Wells’ chagrin, a chagrin he didn’t hesitate to voice--and the two deadly opponents did more glaring than battling. That was a pretty struggle while it lasted, and it was watched enjoyably by non-combatants and approvingly by Coach Gaston. When the trouble began again after the first no-score period and a five-minute breathing spell it was Mart Proctor who occupied left tackle position on the first and Russell’s supremacy was at an end. Not that he allowed Mart to walk over him often, however. Russell played real football that Monday afternoon, and his deeds were respectfully spoken of afterwards. He and the passionate-spoken Wells formed on defense an outer guard that turned back most invasions.